Cancelled

Two forthcoming weekend expeditions are now off the agenda.  I’ve sadly decided not to go to London on Friday, so I can use the weekend to chill out and take things easy in the run-up to a hectic fortnight of travels for work, while I will no longer be in Glasgow the weekend after.

Coupled with a cancelled trip this week, it gives me a bit more time to catch up with myself. And at such a busy time of year, and with the commercial festival known as Christmas looming over the cold, neon-lit horizon, that’s a welcome thing.

How often do we get caught up in the often completely mental Christmas hype that actually has nothing to do with the substantive reason for the day?  Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Christ - nothing more.

Not to say that Jesus entering the world was an insignificant event, of course.  It’s probably the biggest event of the last two thousand years (albeit with Lost season 4 this coming February a close second).  It’s just that the significance of that birth has been lost, sadly, in the cacophony of messages that tell us that we obviously don’t love our friends and family if we don’t splash out enough cash on presents for them.

Sorry to sound like a grumpy old man.  I do like a lot about Christmas - it’s just it’s so draining when the run-up to it is longer, louder and more irrelevant as each year goes by.

Nothing

No blogs from me for a whole week. Must be some sort of record.

I have travelled about quite a bit this week. Highlights included eating curry and watching the England v Croatia game in Justin’s new flat in Aberdeen with him, Mark and Claire, and then getting back from a weekend in Skye earlier this evening.

Not to much in the way of photos, sadly. I’ve been a bit rubbish at remembering to keep my camera with me all the time lately, which I really ought to do because it is at the most unexpected moments that good opportunities arise.

The England game drew to an end an exciting and dramatic round of Euro 2008 qualifiers, and it’s nice to remember that I’ve made it to two of them - Faroes v Italy and Faroes v Scotland. Those games mean that I have now watched the Faroe Islands play more times (twice) than any other country.

So there’s a nice factoid for when I crop up in conversation at your next dinner party. Or for the “Simon Varwell” round in your local pub quiz.

A quietish week ahead, thanks for asking, peppered with a couple of couchsurfers. Then things start to get a bit busy in the run-up to the commercial bandwagon formerly known as Christmas. But more on all that later.

Next time I promise to have something more interesting to blog about.

Glorious defeat

So, we lost.

Ah well, my prediction of a low-scoring game was wrong, though I was right about there being a last minute winner.  Just a shame it was an Italian winner, and one from a dodgily-awarded free kick.  That said, the Scotland goal was possibly off-side, and the Italians had a goal disallowed despite probably being on-side.

And so Scotland continue in their tradition of glorious defeat, of suffering from over-expectation.  The glimmer of hope lies in the fact that we’ll probably be a second seed in the qualifying draw for the 2010 World Cup, which gives us - in theory - a very good chance of qualification.

As is always the case in football, there’s always next time…

In other news, I was in a meeting in church after the morning service today, and noticed to my surprise a “Join Me” sticker on one of the church office filing cabinets.   Nobody in the meeting could explain it when I enquired, so it seems there is a mystery joinee somewhere in Hilton Church.

In even more news (you lucky things), I have another week of travels coming up, with Edinburgh, Dundee and Aberdeen having my presence bestowed upon them.  The following three weekends see me hit the road too - first to Skye, then to London for the annual  Karmageddon, one of the highlights of the Join Me calendar, and then finally to Glasgow for a mix of work and pleasure.

Not long after that will be Christmas, and then I’ll be off to Australia and New Zealand.

Cripes.

A holiday idea

This article on the BBC news website describes a reporter’s drive through Pakistan, where he talks about the state of the country and the people he gives lifts to on his journey.

It reminds me of something that I read about once, which I would love to try one day. In Mustn’t Grumble, the story of a trip round his native England by the wonderfully grumpy Joe Bennett, the author briefly mentions a holiday he and a friend took many years previously.

In a nutshell, they picked up hitch-hikers and then took them wherever they wanted.

When I first read it, I couldn’t help thinking what a magnificent idea it was. The refreshing uncertainty of hitting the open road knowing that your destination is in the hands of strangers you’ve yet to meet, is liberating and exciting. Like Thelma and Louise, but hopefully without the suicide.

And the probable alarm felt by hitch-hikers as they realise you’re going wherever they are, leading to pleasant surprise and gratitude when they discover you’re not actually an axe-murderer, appeals to my love of cheeky “hit and run” kindness as a joinee.

All I need is a car. And some holidays that aren’t going to be spent chasing mullets.

The list of places to visit and things to do when the mission is finished grows ever longer…

Big day tomorrow

I had a busy few days in Edinburgh and Dundee, with early mornings and late nights.  Edinburgh was looking particularly nice in the crisp winter evenings (sadly I forgot my camera) though I am yet to come to any firm conclusions on Dundee, apart from that their taxi drivers are an interesting breed.

Today is a quiet day off, while tomorrow should be fun - it’s the Scotland v Italy match in the Euro 2008 qualifiers.  Scotland need to win to go through, while Italy just need to draw.  The country’s been increasingly on the edge of its collective seat these last few days, and there’s a mounting hope - expectation, even - that we can actually win.

And it’s really hard to call.  Scotland excels at stumbling against weaker teams while surprising the giants (like France, twice) - yet on the other hand, we are masters of raising false expectations.

My prediction is that the match will be hard-fought, finely-balanced and full of tension, but lacking in open, attractive football because there is so much at stake for both teams.  I reckon it will be 0-0 until the last minute, when Scotland gets a penalty, and the nation holds its breath…

But we’ll see.

New Sigur Ros stuff

Sigur Ros had a new double album and DVD out last week. Being a big fan, I had Mr Amazon deliver them straight to my door the day they came out.

The album, Heim-Hvarf, is two EPs, really. One, Hvarf, is a collection of songs already released, if only as B sides, one or two somewhat mucked about with and spruced up from previous recordings. Hafsól is a particularly outstanding track, a long, slow, tense track that builds up (like so many of Sigur Ros’s pieces) from soft, beautiful strings to crashing guitar and drums. I’ve heard them play it live twice, and the energy the track exudes is incredible.

The other side, Heim, is a series of acoustic recordings of some of their best songs, giving them even more beauty and subtlety, which almost seems impossible. Both great albums and gorgeous listens.

Heima, the DVD, is a video of a series of concerts they held across their native Iceland last year. I’m not a huge fan of music videos and films, but Heima is wonderful. Mixing the sublime music with the jaw-dropping scenery of Iceland and the gentle wit of the band, it paints a magnificent picture of a band with an international reputation giving something back to often tiny communities throughout their homeland.

The music gains an added beauty through the intimacy of small venues and the way it presents a perfect soundtrack to one of the most unusual lands on earth. It certainly makes me as keen as ever to visit Iceland one day soon.

However, enough arty gibberish from me. I’m off tomorrow to Edinburgh and Dundee for three days for work. It would be the 0645 train, but thanks to engineering works, it’s an 0620 bus.

Yuck.

Visitors

There’s been a few visitors in the flat of late.

I’ve had two lots of couchsurfers - one American guy who’s blogging as he motorbikes his way round Europe, and then two American girls. They’ve all been great fun to host, and I think there may be more couchsurfers before the month is out.

However, I’ve also had a visitor of the non-human (and indeed non-American) variety in the form of one of the local cats.

The street I live on seems to be feline central, with one or more of the street’s cats prowling around any time you take a walk along it. Often I will stop and say hello to them and they are generally friendly, if sometimes a little nervous.

“Stoned cat”, as I call it (due to its bright green eyes and general sluggish, relaxed demeanour), is one of my favourites and is normally up for saying hello as I pass. Another, a black and white cat with markings just like a Friesian cow, is another, and it came to visit one evening when I realised I’d left my door open.

At the time I had the two American girls staying, and the three of us befriended the cat and played with it for a while, before deciding it really should go home (and it clearly had one). The Americans christened it “Cow Cow” on account of its markings.

Maybe it will come and visit again some time.

Finding Sheila Sergenson

You may recall, over a year ago, that I found a five pound note with “Sheila Sergenson” written on it, and set out to try and track her down.

Well, as the observant of you might have noticed, I found her. Or rather, she found me, when she commented on one of my blog posts.

Of course, that could have been anyone. But interestingly, some months back I had an email from a woman named Elaine, who was related to some Sergensons and stumbled across my blog when doing some family tree research.

Over a few weeks we exchanged information about Sergensons, and it turns out that she is vaguely related to Sheila Sergenson, was able to track her down, and has now been reconnected to that otherwise lost branch of her family.

So it may have seemed a silly idea, but not only did I find Sheila Sergenson but a long-lost relative found her too.

Nice.

Albanian newspaper article

Bit of an interesting story to tell you.

The other day, I discovered an article about the mullet mission on the website of Shekulli, an Albanian newspaper.

And I must confess I found it when egostistically googling my name. Come on admit it, we all do it. Googling ourselves, I mean, not finding ourselves in Albanian newspapers… unless you’re Norman Wisdom.

Anyway.

Let me take you back a few weeks in time, to just after my Canadian trip, when I had an out-of-the-blue email from a very nice man called Steve. He was, he explained, retired from the US armed forces, and living in Albania following a posting to Tirana. He told me a bit more about Mullet, the Albanian village I accidentally didn’t visit in 2001, and offered help should he still be in the country when I tick finally it off the list.

It was a lovely gesture, and has been one of a number of bizarre coincidences about the mullet mission in recent months - more on which another time. I have, as you’d imagine, kept in touch with Steve, and sent him the link to the article to ask for help.

From the handful of Albanian words I remember, the numerous non-Albanian words in the text, and a bit of common sense, I’ve been able to deduce what the article is roughly getting at - it’s summarising my story up to and including my Canadian trip. But the comments at the end of the article intrigued me… what did ordinary Albanians make of the mission?

Thankfully, Steve was able to offer some explanation by email:

“The first two comments are along the lines of ‘don’t you have something more important to report than the Scot who is seeking mullets?‘ Neither of them find fault with you, rather they think the paper has more weighty issues to cover. The first guy ends with ‘Enough with this Scotsman with full pockets who is having an adventure. We know where we have Mullet. I wish him bon voyage.’

The next two are comments on the origin of the word mullet in Albanian. There is discussion of which fish is actually a mullet, qefull or barbun. I think they both are with the barbun being a red mullet.

The second to last commenter says: ‘This boy may be strange, but you must agree he’s not uncommon. Lots of us loiter around in the world with no reason while he has created one, so much we are blinded to the out of the way places.’
Finally, the last commenter Tani says: ‘This article melted me with laughter. In English ‘mullet’ means ‘hair with bed’, and as far as i know he isn’t the only person attentive to the phenomenon of Mullet.’”

Interesting. Not least because I would dispute that I am “strange” or that I have full pockets - having just bought my New Zealand tickets, my bank balance can urgently contradict the latter statement, if not the former.

Also, I rather like the idea of “melting” someone with laughter. It makes me imagine a stand-up performance to a crowd of snowmen.

But what I love most of all is knowing, thanks to Steve, the Albanian words for “mullet” (both the fish and the haircut). I can’t help wondering if, in a parallel universe, there’s an Albanian guy travelling the world looking for places that have the words qefull, barbun or floke me shtrat in their names…

…surely there can’t be many.

Murder!

Last night’s murder mystery party was a lot of fun.

The party was set in the year 1900, and my character was a controversial Austrian psychologist. Not really knowing of any other Austrians (apart from Hitler), I modelled my accent on that of Arnold Schwarzenegger, although I think I strayed into Indian on a couple of occasions.

I even managed to slip in a couple of Arnie’s film lines, which I was quite proud of (for example - “I didn’t need his [the murder victim's] money. Or his clothes, or his motorcycle“).

And even better, I correctly guessed the killer.

I’m clearly in the wrong job.